I swallowed. “I’m not… you still lied.”
“You asked me if I had a relationship with her, and I said no. It was the truth.” He made a motion with his hand, like it was nothing, like he couldn’t believe I was getting so worked up over something so trivial.
“Stop doing that!” I said, pounding my hand down on the table. “Stop acting like anything I feel means nothing!”
I expected him to soften, to try and comfort me or convince me, but my words had the opposite effect. They seemed to make him angry.
“Is that what you think I’m doing, Charlotte?” he demanded. “You think I’m acting like how you feel means nothing? How do you think it makes me feel when you accuse me over and over again of lying to you? Why do you think I’m here right now, trying to convince you that I haven’t done anything wrong?”
“I think if you wanted to convince me, you could just tell me the truth.”
“I did just tell you the truth!” he said, his voice raising now. “I told you those were just some emails sent months ago, before I even knew you.”
“And the pictures of her in your file folder? How do you explain those?”
He sighed. “Those weren’t taken by me. They were taken by a private investigator who I hired to follow her.”
“And why were you following her?”
“Because I thought she was leaking information to someone on a case.”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I thought she was giving the district attorney information about a client I was representing,” he said. “And I was having her followed to see if I could catch her.”
“And was she?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful!” I said. “Means, opportunity, and now motive.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Do you see how this looks to me, Noah?” I asked. “Do you see how all of this looks? You keep everything inside, you keep everything secret and hidden. I’m a logical person, and when I start looking at everything logically, there’s really no way to believe anything else.”
“So you lied to me when you said you trusted me.”
“I want to trust you, Noah, but every single thing that happens points to you being a liar and probably a killer. So how can I?”
“That’s what trust is, Charlotte. Believing someone when the evidence points otherwise.”
“Yeah, well, do you see how hard that might be for me?” I asked, throwing my hands up in the air. “Do you see how that might not be that easy? And do you see how you might be making it even harder?”
He balled up his napkin and threw it onto the table. “I’m not making this easier for you? How do you think it felt, Charlotte, having to give my email passwords over to Worthington? How do you think it felt when Nora died? Do you think any of this has been easy for me, Charlotte? I’m doing the fucking best I can.”
His voice was laced with pain and anger, and I felt the emotions swirling around in my chest, threatening to take over the logical part of my brain, the part that was telling me I should walk out of here and never speak to him again.
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think this has been easy on you. I’m just trying to explain to you how I feel. And how would I have known any of that? About why you were following Katie? You don’t tell me anything, Noah. You don’t let me in.”
The waiter returned then, setting our food down in front of us. A perfectly cooked filet mignon with a skewer of shrimp drizzled with a rich lobster cream sauce. It was all expertly plated, the food arranged just so around a scoop of quinoa and kale salad. It was beautiful, and I had no appetite.
“Compliments of the owner,” the waiter said, pulling out an expensive-looking bottle of red and pouring Noah and me each a glass.
“Thank you, Graham,” Noah said, his voice even. I marveled at his ability to go from seemingly about to lose it to being calm and in control.
“See?” I pressed as soon as Graham was gone. “Do you see?”
“Do I see what, Charlotte?” He’d folded his hands in his lap, seemingly not hungry, either.
“Do you see how hard it becomes to believe you? You were just about to get upset, and then the waiter comes in and you’re somehow able to tamp that down, like it’s nothing.”
“And you think this makes me a killer?”
“I think it makes you a person who’s able to turn their emotions on and off.”
“And this makes me a bad person?”
“Stop trying to talk to me like a lawyer!” I said, balling my fists up in my lap and struggling to keep control of my emotions. I took a sip of the wine Graham had set in front of me, hoping it might take the edge off my nerves. It was smooth and crisp going down, and I took another big gulp, letting the alcohol warm me as it moved down my throat.